


Fight Like A Girl

by CloudAtlas



Series: All Hallows Eve 2014, Be_Compromised Style [11]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bar Room Brawl, F/M, Friendship, Misogyny, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Kate have exactly the same taste in women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts), [desertport](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=desertport).



Clint and Kate are in the corner when it happens – like, a _close_ corner, but out of the way, because it turned out ‘out of the way’ was a really good place to be at that moment.

But backtrack a little. Kate’s boyfriend had turned out to be a shit and had cheated on her with some woman from his gym. So Clint was being the supportive best friend and buying her consolation drinks in the bar a block over from his place in Bed Stuy, because Kate’s place was in Manhattan and Clint was generous but not Manhattan-prices generous. 

So far so normal, or at least sort of normal – Kate is awesome; people don’t cheat on her unless they are deficient in brain cells and basic human decency, so it isn’t like Clint has to do this often. Normally it’s the other way round. Out of the two of them, Clint is definitely the one with the crap relationship record.

So here they are, minding their own business at a corner table in a fairly busy bar in Bed Stuy, when there’s the sound of breaking glass. That’s not _completely_ out of place though – drunk people aren’t good with breakables and spilt beer doesn’t make the wait staff’s jobs any easier – so they both ignore it. However, it’s followed by a gasp and a loud _slap_ and suddenly people start backing away from the bar like there’s a wild animal cornered there. 

_That’s_ unusual. 

So, of course, Clint and Kate turn to look, only to find the single hottest woman either of them has ever seen (Clint can totally speak for Kate on this) threatening a guy with the cocktail stick from her martini.

“What _the fuck_ is your problem?” the woman snarls. “I don’t owe you jack shit.”

The guy looks over at the girls behind the bar, but they’re standing with identical raised eyebrows and crossed arms, the feeling of _you brought this shit upon yourself, jackass_ rolling off them in waves.

“I am _not_ here for your amusement, or for your titillation or to stroke your ego,” the woman continues, threat dripping like acid from every syllable. “I am here for alcohol and I can damn well pay for my own.”

The cocktail stick is pressed very close under the guys chin. He’s tilting his head away but she just keeps pressing in.

“And when I say ‘no’ – ”

– Clint and Kate force themselves through the backtracking evening crowd –

“ – I mean ‘no’ – ”

– and Clint can now see that the woman has also got her killer six inch heel pressed firmly into the top of the guy’s left foot. Kate’s done that to Clint, so he _knows_ that hurts like hell – 

“ – not ‘not now’ – ”

– and Clint is sure he has the exact same shell shocked expression on his face that he can see on Kate’s – 

“ – not ‘please keep trying’ – ”

– and he _definitely_ has the same ‘I am so attracted to you right now’ expression as Kate. _Hoo_ boy –

“ – not ‘get up into my space and I might change my mind’.”

The bouncers have turned up, but the girls behind the bar shake their heads ever so slightly and they hang back. One of them looks like he’s itching to throw the guy out on his ass about as much as he wants to laugh in his face. Clint would be right there with him if he could tear his eyes away from the phenomenal woman in front of him. 

“A _dog_ knows that. And I swear, if I ever see you harass _anyone_ , here or anywhere else, I will _break you_.”

The woman removes the cocktail stick and her lethal heel from the guy’s vicinity, somehow manages to look contemptuously down her nose at him even though she’s at least six inches shorter, and says, “Leave. Now,” in the most threatening tone of voice Clint has ever heard.

Clint and Kate are unceremoniously pushed out of the way as the guy practically _bolts_ for the door.

There is a moment of stunned silence, into which – because neither of them are particularly good at keeping their mouths shut – Clint and Kate say, in awed unison and loud enough to be heard by the whole bar, never mind the magnificent woman who’s verbal beat down they just witnessed;

“Oh my God, _marry me_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha’s hands are shaking almost imperceptibly as she studiously _does not_ watch that asshole scurry for the door and she only twigs she has an audience when the silence – which she hasn’t really noticed for the rushing in her ears – is broken by two shocked voices simultaneously saying; “Oh my God, _marry me_.”

Natasha’s head whips round just as the bar bursts into spontaneous applause.

Another martini is pushed into her hands by Jess and Carol from behind the bar with a bright smile and a chirpy ‘on the house’ as various women come up and congratulate her on being a ‘fucking badass’ and offer to buy her more drinks than she was planning on drinking tonight. Sam, who had probably been itching to throw the asshole out himself, pats her on the back with a wide grin.

“Your admirers are the guy and the girl with the affinity for purple,” he says into her ear before returning with his partner – Maria, Natasha thinks her name is – back to the entrance. Probably to make sure the guy doesn’t try to get back in again.

The anger coursing through her veins is making her antsy and jittery; left over adrenaline that’s basically begging her to fight or fuck. Or exercise, which would be very boring way to spend a Friday night. She throws back her free drink and casts her eyes around the room for people with an affinity for purple. Hopefully they’re either fuckwits she can fight or someone she’d happily take apart with her teeth. 

Man, all she wanted was a quiet night, assholes and adrenaline are _the worst_.

She doesn’t spot anyone who fits Sam’s description immediately, but only because they’ve apparently moved to sit next to her. Natasha turns back to the bar only to find a cute girl with dark hair looking at her like she holds the sun.

“Hi,” the girl says, slightly breathlessly.

“Hi,” Natasha says.

“I’m Kate,” the girl – Kate – says, “and this is Clint.” 

She waves a hand over her shoulder and all Natasha’s latent rage dissolves into an intense need to bite bruises into the collarbones of the guy Kate is gesturing to.

“Is there any chance,” Kate continues, and Natasha tries to drag her gaze back to the girl in front of her, “that you’re into girls? Because seriously, I have an intense need to pin you against the next available horizontal surface.”

Natasha manages to refocus at that, but only just.

“Excuse me?”

Kate looks horrified. 

“Oh my God!” she forces out. “Sorry, sorry, sorry! That was forward and inappropriate and… oh my God. Barton, this is your fault.”

“What?” the guy – Clint – says, clearly affronted and thank God, Natasha has a reason to look at him again. “How?”

“Your terrible flirting is rubbing off on me!”

“I’m not terrible at flirting!” Clint says indignantly. “Also, _shut up_.”

Kate open her mouth to argue back – or at least that’s what Natasha assumes she’s planning on doing – but Natasha beats her to the punch.

“Prove it,” she grinds out, low. Because yeah, sometimes she’s into girls, but mostly she’s into guys like _him_.

“What?”

They’re looking at her like she’s suddenly speaking Farsi, but Natasha doesn’t look away from Clint and the way his eyes darken and the flush creeps up his neck.

“Prove,” she says lowly, “that you’re not terrible at flirting.”

And Kate is between them, huffing and muttering ‘fucking figures’ while rolling her eyes, but Natasha is concentrating much more on the way uncertainty chases lust and cockiness across his face.

Then Clint grins at her, small and somehow filthy.

“Fancy pinning me to the next available horizontal surface?”

And _oh_ , Natasha thinks, this is going to be _so_ worth it.


End file.
